


Helplessly

by Shi_Shi



Series: Hopelessly, Helplessly, Falling in Love [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drown Malcolm Reed Month, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 20:28:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Shi/pseuds/Shi_Shi
Summary: An away mission doesn't go well for Tucker and Reed
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Series: Hopelessly, Helplessly, Falling in Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898824
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted to the EntSTslash Yahoo Group in November 2011 and beta'd by the wonderful SueC; any mistakes are mine for messing with it all these years later. Thank you for reading!

Trip glanced again at the door to the ready room. Jon and T’Pol had been in there for the last half hour on the comm with Starfleet Command in the latest of a flurry of conversations, all very hush-hush. Between several seemingly random course changes and T’Pol’s constant use of the scanners (what she was scanning for no one knew; she wouldn’t tell anyone) Trip’s, as well as the rest of the bridge crew’s curiosity was almost palpable. 

Malcolm caught the movement and raised his head. His eyes darted toward the door and back at Trip before giving him an almost imperceptible shrug and returning his attention to his console. 

Over the last few days Jon had been tight lipped and T’Pol no better. It was difficult being out of the loop and Trip resented it, just a little. He wondered how the armory officer could remain so outwardly impassive when he knew it was bugging Malcolm just as badly. They’d discussed the situation over lunch, Trip venting his frustration, knowing that Malcolm would be discreet. It had felt good to bitch to someone who could empathize even though Malcolm would never say anything negative to anyone regarding their captain’s command decisions – except in private right to Jon’s face Trip amended with a slight mental chuckle.

If anything Malcolm had the worse situation Trip thought, not for the first time. He’d been left of out the loop more often than Trip had so far on their mission; it was something Jon tended to do, not consciously, but because of his optimistic nature, which was far from Malcolm’s worst-case scenario mind set – the open arms versus the closed fist, diametrically opposed, yet both philosophies necessary out here.

Trip rose from the captain’s chair and drifted over to Malcolm’s station, a little peeved and somewhat bored. He’d rather have been working on the transporter, which had gone out again, but Jon wanted Hess to handle it during this downtime to give her more experience.

Malcolm raised his head and gave Trip a hint of a smile, saving something on his terminal before leaning back casually. 

“Weary of the power and responsibility of command already, sir?” he asked, his tone droll.

“You got that right. After all, I’m just a simple engineer,” Trip drawled, making his accent extra thick. He heard Travis and Hoshi chuckle.

“Never simple,” Malcolm dismissed.

“Highly complicated, I’d say,” Hoshi put in.

“A man of deep complexity and profundity,” Travis intoned.

“Y’all are loopy from boredom too, aren’t ya?” Trip asked, rolling his eyes.

“Nigh insane,” Malcolm agreed mildly.

“Off the deep end,” Hoshi said.

“Completely bonkers,” Travis added with a solemn nod.

Trip laughed, feeling a little less frustrated. The other three were grinning at each other, their obvious pleasure at teasing him making him feel warm. 

He’d told Malcolm on Elg that he could tell that Malcolm had gotten comfortable with the crew, but Trip realized that the same could be said for himself. Trip felt at home on Enterprise, and a large part of that was due to the very people he was with right now, on the bridge. 

Travis knew everyone on the ship and was friends with almost all of them; the young boomer was always involved in some nightly social gathering and had invited Trip along many times. Hoshi had organized a weekly game night/book club, and Trip dropped by on occasion, the first time to play poker, then the next time to join in the discussion of famous writers from Florida, spotlighting Trip’s favorite, the prizewinning Sarah B. Listmum, and he was looking forward to going again in a few weeks when graphic novels from the 21st century were on the agenda. He was trying to get Malcolm to join him for that one, but it interfered with the perpetual video game tournament between the armory and the navigation crews; Malcolm and Travis were cutthroat players and spent a good four hours together every Sunday afternoon honing their skills. 

However, the one night the bridge crew all got together without fail was on Friday, in the galley. After their enjoyable Elgian brunch Hoshi and Jon had pestered Malcolm to make them their special favorites from that occasion, with Trip joining in just to get a rise out of him. Malcolm had finally agreed, on the condition that they’d help while he taught them how to make those dishes. Travis, having heard about it from Hoshi, invited himself along for that first lesson, and Malcolm extended an invitation to T’Pol since he was making her favorite, the cinnamon twists. 

At the end of the evening T’Pol had inquired about learning to make a treacle tart, and since then they’d met every Friday. One week Travis had introduced his father’s samosa recipe and it had been a resounding success. The week before Jon had tried to recreate his mom’s chocolate pfeffernusse cookies, although he couldn’t quite recall all the ingredients or their quantities, but with Malcolm’s help Jon had been able to turn out a fairly tasty facsimile. And last week Hoshi made enchiladas, although Trip couldn’t figure out why Hoshi kept saying ‘enchilada’ with a smug smile as she looked at Malcolm. Trip couldn’t figure out why Malcolm looked embarrassed every time she said it either. 

In any case, they’d been damn good, plus Trip had enjoyed watching Malcolm react throughout that evening. Unfortunately, much to Trip’s chagrin, it had only increased his infatuation with the man. But that didn’t stop him from looking forward to tonight’s cooking lesson. “So – what’s on the menu this evening, Malcolm?” he asked, his musings making him a little hungry.

“Plomeek ravioli,” Malcolm replied. Trip wrinkled his nose. “Oh come on, Trip. How do you think T’Pol feels, always having to eat Human food? I think it’ll be a nice change of pace for her and I’m fairly sure I can make something both our species will like.”

“But plomeek smells so...funky,” Trip protested. 

“I think it’s the broth in the plomeek soup that smells weird,” Hoshi said, “Not the plomeek itself.”

“I like the smell,” Travis said.

Trip stared at him. “Completely bonkers is right,” he muttered. Travis and Hoshi exchanged a conspiratorial look. 

“You know, you don’t have to come,” Travis continued nonchalantly, albeit with a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“All the more for us,” Hoshi agreed, straight faced.

“You can have it,” Trip shot back, and the ensigns broke. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Malcolm said to Trip under the laughter of their crewmates. “I know a sweet potato pie recipe that I think you’d like.” 

“That’s one of my favorites!” Trip exclaimed, surprised.

“Oh! We should have a Commander Tucker pie night,” Hoshi said, “We could do peach, key lime and –“

“Pecan pie!” Travis joined in with Hoshi and the ensigns cackled like mad things.

Trip’s previous feelings of boredom and frustration vanished. He was with good friends and Malcolm was looking at him with that smile – the one that seemed to be for Trip and Trip alone; the one that made Trip’s insides flutter a little.

Unfortunately a few minutes later Captain Archer paged him and Malcolm to the ready room and the rest of the day went to hell. 

And he never did get any pie.

***

“The Vulcan High Command has asked us to do them a favor.” Trip doubted that anyone but himself could hear that trace of smugness in Jon’s voice. Trip kept a straight face even though he wanted to smile, especially when Jon’s eyes met his and he saw the barely repressed glee in them. “It seems they lost something and needed our help to find it. Which we did.”

“Considering Enterprise was in the general area and had adequate scanning capabilities, it was only logical to ask for our assistance instead of waiting for a Vulcan ship to arrive,” T’Pol clarified. 

“They never would have looked where we did,” Jon argued affably. 

“They would have eventually – once the logical locations had been eliminated, they would have scanned in the unlikely ones,” T’Pol mildly disagreed.

“But then they wouldn’t have found it as quickly as we did,” Jon countered, a hint of smarminess entering his voice.

“No, sir, they most likely would not have,” T’Pol conceded, although her tone made it sound as if she was mollifying a small child. 

Trip caught Malcolm’s eyes and had to look away – they were both on the verge of laughing out loud at their superior officers and Trip didn’t think either of said officers would appreciate it.

“In any case, now that we have located the item, we need to retrieve it,” T’Pol continued.

Jon stood and began to pace the small confines of his ready room. “The Vulcans have asked us to recover the recording device in the probe that we’ve found for them. Trip, you’ll need to remove the recorder from the probe without damaging it. The downside is that the probe’s booby trapped.”

T’Pol raised her eyebrow in response to Malcolm’s own raised eyebrow. “The High Command has given us the information on how to disarm it.”

“Which is why I’m sending you with Trip,” Jon said to Malcolm. He ducked the beam and started back the other way. “I want to make sure that booby trap’s deactivated before Trip tries to remove the recorder.” He paused briefly in front of the two men and smiled at Malcolm. “On the upside, after Trip gets the recorder, you get to blow the whole thing up.” 

“You are to ensure that it is completely destroyed, Lieutenant,” T’Pol stated. “The High Command doesn’t want any trace of the probe left behind.” 

“There won’t be, Subcommander,” Malcolm said. Trip smiled and he could see Jon’s grin widen – although Malcolm had tried to maintain his professional demeanor, he couldn’t quite hid his enthusiasm. Even T’Pol looked amused for a brief moment before she continued.

“The recording device is programmed to erase itself in the face of tampering. Commander, you will have to be very careful not to trigger it. Starfleet, and the High Command, want us to emphasize that any information you gather regarding the recording device and the probe, including the instructions on disarming and dismantling it, is classified.”

“What were they probing?” Trip asked, half facetiously, but he was curious.

“That’s on a need to know basis and Starfleet agrees with the Vulcans that you two don’t need to know,” Jon answered, sounding a bit apologetic. “In fact, this whole mission is classified. Not a word of it is to go beyond these walls. As far as the rest of the crew is concerned, you and Malcolm are doing a preliminary reconnoiter of the planet.”

“The probe’s location is problematic,” T’Pol said. “You will have to land the shuttle and hike in.” 

“Through swampland,” Jon added. “I’ve been told it’s a lot like the Everglades, Trip. You should feel right at home.” 

“Very funny, Cap’n,” Trip said and Jon chuckled at his insolent tone. “Well, if that’s true, then I hope this planet doesn’t have any snakes or gators.” 

“Sensors haven’t detected any lifeforms on land or in the water,” T’Pol said. 

“How deep?” Malcolm asked suddenly. 

Jon stopped in front of Malcolm. “About waist high,” he answered.

“Whose waist?” Malcolm asked, “Yours or mine?” and Trip nearly laughed at the almost sarcastic question but Jon’s uncharacteristically gentle tone as he answered “T’Pol’s” made the snicker die in Trip’s throat. A look passed between Jon and Malcolm, with Malcolm lowering his eyes after a moment, then Jon turned, resuming his pacing. Trip’s fleeting thought that he’d just missed something important was soon forgotten as Jon continued the briefing.

***

“So what do you think the Vulcans were up to?” Trip asked as he piloted the shuttle.

Malcolm shrugged, not looking up from the co-pilot console as he kept track of the probe’s location and continued to feed in course corrections. “Since it’s classified, we’ll probably never know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Does it matter? We have our orders.”

“But what if it’s like that Vulcan monastery all over again? If they’re spying on somebody else?” 

“Well, Captain Archer and the Subcommander certainly seem to know what’s going on and I doubt either of them would agree to be a party to such deceit; P’Jem proved that.”

“Yeah, but what if the Vulcans are being less than truthful with Starfleet?”

“That’s always a possibility, but I would hope that after P’Jem the High Command would think twice about being deceptive and Starfleet would be a little more proactive in investigating their requests.”

Trip went silent as they entered the atmosphere. He checked the coordinates of the probe again and headed toward it. The landscape below did look a lot like the Everglades with serpentine stretches of murky water edged by dense overgrowth or patches of scrub land. “I’m gonna try to fly over the probe. Maybe we’ll be able to see it. Keep your eyes peeled.” Malcolm nodded and for the next few minutes they searched in vain.

“Damn it,” Trip said after circling a few time over where the computer said the probe was resting. “It’s either hidden in all that brush or under water. Either way, there’s no place to land near by.”

“Well, try to get as close as possible; I don’t fancy wading through that muck for hours on ends,” Malcolm replied, a little testily. Trip couldn’t blame him for his attitude. Even though it wasn’t very deep, the water looked dark and nasty. It was probably cold too, Trip thought morosely. 

Ever widening circles eventually led to a small clearing, and it took all of his concentration to set the shuttle down on the only piece of bare ground large enough. Even though he’d gotten them as close as possible, it looked like they’d have to hike through that grungy looking water for a good two hours. Trip wasn’t looking forward to the trek.

They climbed out of the pod, each with a waterproof backpack. Trip’s held the tools he needed to remove the recording device, along with his canteen of water and a few energy bars. Malcolm’s held the same food and water in addition to a selection of explosives for blowing up the probe, along with a phase pistol. Malcolm had shoved the first aid kit and another phase pistol into Trip’s pack as well, although Trip doubted he’d need either item. 

They looked around; there was water as far as the eye could see, lined by nearly impenetrable vegetation rising up from the swampy depths. They’d worn their desert garb, for which Trip was grateful – the material would make it easier to slog through the water and would be more comfortable and lighter when wet, not to mention dry faster, than their usual uniforms.

The weather was actually quite nice. The air was fresh, the sun warm on his back but not hot – a perfect day. He watched Malcolm with a wave of fondness as he locked down the shuttlepod, amused by the armory officer’s adherence to protocol. Scans had made it obvious that there wasn’t a living thing within hundreds of miles of them. 

Ever since he’d realized on Elg that he was hopelessly enamored with Malcolm he’d been telling himself that it was only a passing fancy due to proximity and pent up sexual frustration – he’d gone down this route with a couple of co-workers before. However, this time he hadn’t been fully successful in controlling his attraction and, he had to admit, his occasional fantasies, but he’d been trying to keep those feelings in check. Although he’d managed to stop himself from asking Malcolm for private cooking lessons just to spend more one-on-one time with the man, Trip still found himself eating more meals with him, or in the armory more often, or just stopping by his quarters in the evening to chat. Trip didn’t know what Malcolm thought of his behavior or if he’d even noticed, but since he hadn’t said anything, Trip was content to continue to spend as much time with him as possible. Unfortunately all the additional time together just made it that more difficult to pretend it was just a temporary infatuation. 

Trip had always kept a mental checklist of a sort, of what he looked for in a potential partner. Looks played a part of course, but not as much as people would think. Intelligence and a sense of humor were two key features, as well as a desire to have children and a similar core of values, such as faithfulness and loyalty. Someone he could depend on and trust, just as they could depend on and trust him. Easy to talk to, fun to be with – someone he could share his dreams and passions with, someone who could put up with his missteps and mistakes. 

Actually, he’d been attracted to Jon at first. Jon embodied most everything on Trip’s list. For the first few months of their friendship there’d been a bit of puppy love on Trip’s part, but it soon dissipated – Jon was emphatically straight and Trip accepted that with no regret. Their friendship had grown strong over the years and then Natalie had come into the picture and Trip had been happy. She was cute and curvaceous, smart, funny, and was open to having a child. But she’d been none too pleased when he’d been assigned to Enterprise as her chief engineer. Natalie wanted him close to home, not out in space. 

She’d met someone else in his absence, although she’d had the decency to break it off with him before getting involved. Trip wished her well; saddened by the termination of their relationship, but fully understanding her reasons.

“Huh. So this is what the Everglades look like,” Malcolm stated flatly as he looked around. “Lovely.”

"You’re lucky it’s not hot and humid too,” Trip replied easily, putting his thoughts aside. Malcolm’s mood had darkened further during their search for a landing site and Trip had been trying to jolly him out of it. He couldn’t help it. 

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Malcolm grumbled, his scanner out and taking readings. 

“I don’t know how you ever survived living in Malaysia,” Trip teased. 

“Massive amounts of water and deodorant.” 

Trip laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, then was surprised by how tense Malcolm’s body felt. He opened his mouth to comment on it but Malcolm shook him off and shoved the scanner at him. “Look – there are no lifeforms anywhere. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Trip looked at the readings. “Well, that’s exactly what T’Pol said. No lifeforms here at all.” He checked the scanner; it only registered himself and Malcolm, showing that it was functioning perfectly.

“But look at this place – water, oxygen, mild climate – shouldn’t some form of life beyond plants have evolved?”

Trip shrugged and handed the scanner back to Malcolm. “Don’t ask me. My first name may be Charles, but my last name sure isn’t Darwin.”

Malcolm snorted and put the scanner back into his pack. “You’re just a simple engineer, right?” he drawled in his uncanny imitation of Trip’s accent.

“Never simple,” Trip responded in an impeccably haughty English accent. 

That got a genuine laugh out of Malcolm and it made Trip feel good. “Come on, let’s get going. Looks like we’ve got a little walk ahead of us,” and with that said, Trip set out, easing into the swampy water. He didn’t see Malcolm’s smile fade or the look of trepidation that passed over his friend’s face.

***

They’d walked about twenty minutes in ankle deep water before the silty bottom gently began to slope. It was soon up to their calves and Trip noticed that Malcolm wore a grimace of distaste as they continued to wade through the dingy water. Malcolm had maintained a sullen silence, eyes on the never changing readings of the scanner he held in a white knuckled grip.

Trip had been surprised that the water wasn’t cold; in fact, it was rather pleasantly warm. That got him thinking about one of his favorite diving spots and he finally broke the silence, reminiscing out loud about growing up in Florida. Malcolm seemed honestly interested, asking questions, the scanner forgotten and his focus exclusively on Trip for the next 40 minutes as they trudged along, the swamp varying wildly from long, narrow patches of dry flats to knee-deep water.

“Next time we’re back on Earth, you should come home with me. I can show you around. Hey, we can go giggin’ for frogs,” Trip said happily. Malcolm gave him an uncomprehending look. “Gigging for frogs,” Trip repeated slowly. 

“Gigging?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had frogs legs.” 

“No, I have.”

“Then how do you think you get the frogs?”

“By ‘gigging’ for them?” Malcolm asked tentatively.

“Damn right,” Trip replied, amused by Malcolm’s utter perplexity. Smiling, he squeezed Malcolm’s shoulder; this time the man seemed more relaxed. “I can’t believe there’s a word I know that you don’t. Seems like that core curriculum of yours wasn’t so well rounded as you like to think.” Malcolm shot him a narrowed-eyed look of annoyance.

“Perhaps you’d best explain it to me then. Be sure to use small words, so I’ll understand them,” Malcolm said, his habitual sarcasm in full force, but the effect was marred by the slight smile on his face. 

Trip laughed and spent the next half hour telling Malcolm everything anyone would want to know about catching frogs, from making your own gig to his mother’s recipe for fried frog legs. He hardly noticed that the water was now thigh deep for Malcolm’s complete attention was on him and Trip had to admit he was enjoying being the center of it.

Thus they were both startled when Trip stumbled. Trip only managed to keep his head from going under because of Malcolm’s quick reaction, pulling him upright. It wasn’t until Malcolm had half dragged him a few feet away that Trip realized Malcolm’s scanner had been replaced by his phase pistol and both that and his gaze were raking the surrounding water for any threat. 

“Relax, Malcolm! I just stepped in a hole.” While he didn’t mind being held against Malcolm’s chest, Trip could feel the rapid beating of Malcolm’s heart and the tremor in his muscles caused by the sheer adrenaline that generated those hair trigger reflexes. 

Malcolm let out a gust of breath and quickly released Trip, drawing away from him. Trip stood there, registering the fact that he was soaked from the neck down. “Damn it,” he complained, plucking his shirt away from his skin. When he looked up again he noticed that the left side of Malcolm’s shirt was drenched from where’d held Trip. 

Trip’s irritation at being dripping wet evaporated when he saw Malcolm look down at himself with an almost comical expression of antipathy. “Sorry,” Trip said. He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. 

“It’s fine,” Malcolm mumbled, running a hand over his face. He exhaled loudly again and put his phase pistol away, taking out his scanner once more. He concentrated on it and Trip could hear him trying to calm his breathing. 

“Well, come on then. It can’t be much further.” Trip put his hand on Malcolm’s back to propel him forward. That tension was back again in Malcolm’s body and Trip finally had to say something.

“You know, you’re wound tighter than an eight day clock. Is there a problem?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly. Through his palm Trip could feel Malcolm stiffen further and Trip watched as he swallowed, his mouth twitching, almost as if he were fighting back words that wanted to gush forth. 

“Malcolm,” he said gently. 

Malcolm’s eyes met Trip’s and Trip was struck with a sense of deja vu; Malcolm was staring at him with that look of appraisal, so similar to the one Malcolm had given him on Elg when he’d told Trip about how he’d learned to cook. 

When he was debating just how much to say and what personal information to reveal.

“I’m...it’s just...” Trip could swear there was a sheen of anxiety in Malcolm’s eyes as his friend trailed off. Trip watched Malcolm, unaware of the tender concern on his own face. Then Malcolm broke eye contact by surging forward, taking Trip off guard. “It’s nothing,” he said as he waded ahead, staring at his scanner. “I’m just put off by this,” he waved his hand to encompass the surrounding area. “There’s no birdsong, no insects humming – not even a breeze. It just puts me on edge.” 

It made sense to Trip; there was something foreboding about the complete silence of the planet. However, he felt that there was something off about Malcolm’s explanation, that he hadn’t exactly come clean with what was really bothering him. 

He was weighing if he should call Malcolm on it when Malcolm cleared his throat. “So. Your mother – I take it she makes a lot of southern dishes?” Trip nodded. “Does she make conch chowder? That always sounded so exotic to me.”

Trip grinned. “She makes a great conch chowder – my older sister and I used to go diving for them. My sister had this old car. It would shimmy and shake and could barely make it up a hill, but when I got my learner’s permit, she’d let me drive it to the beach even though she hadn’t had her license long to let me do that. Never did tell our folks about that though.”

“What type of car did she have?”

He accepted Malcolm’s clumsy change of subject and launched into stories about his sister’s car, how he taught himself to fix it, their adventures in it, and that she gave it to him when she went off to college. 

But he filed away Malcolm’s unease and kept a close eye on him, determined to find out what was troubling his friend.

***

They found the probe on a narrow spit of land, burrowed under dense foliage, the surrounding brush parted and broken by its passage. They spent some time uncovering it completely. 

With their labor done Trip took the opportunity to remove his still wet shirt and wring it out. He set it to dry on top of a scraggy bush and then boosted himself up to sit in the crook of a gnarled tree, eating one of the energy bars and drinking from his canteen while watching Malcolm scan the probe. 

Finished with his readings of the probe’s defensive mechanism, Malcolm shoved his scanner into his pack, grabbed an energy bar and joined Trip under the dappled shade of the tree. Trip reached down and handed Malcolm the canteen.

“How’s it look?” Trip asked.

“Everything’s just as the Vulcans said. Should be a snap,” Malcolm replied then took a sip of water. 

“Lookin’ forward to blowing it sky high?”

The grin Trip received made him laugh out loud. 

*** 

It took Malcolm less than five minutes to disarm the probe. Trip hadn’t chatted while Malcolm worked, not wanting to distract him. Malcolm had told him Jon had talked throughout their harrowing attempt to disable the mine when it was attached it to the hull and how Malcolm had found that ‘maddening’. Besides, it gave Trip an opportunity to just watch him. It was funny, Trip thought, how Malcolm seemed relaxed, happy even, in the middle of a delicate operation where one false move could lead to disaster. It was a sharp contrast from earlier.

Malcolm took Trip’s place in the crook of the tree as Trip began to scan the probe's casing, outlining a plan of attack to get to the recorder. It was an easy but time consuming task, so Trip started a conversation; any mistake he made wouldn’t get them blown up.

“You know, I always wanted to be an engineer. Started when I was little. Taking things apart all the time, trying to figure out how they worked. In grammar school I discovered warp engines and heard about Henry Archer’s first experiments – that’s when I knew what I wanted to do. As I got older I got into fixing up engines, like my sister’s car, and my dad’s boat. I even took a couple college classes while I was still in high school.” He poked at a seam of the outer casing, making a note of it as a possible entry point. “My dad was proud. He’s a civil engineer and he was happy someone followed in his engineering footsteps. Not that he ever really pressured us or anything. We were luckier than you that regard,” he added.

“Parents just want what they think is best for their children,” Malcolm shrugged. “It’s difficult to stand back when you think they’re going off in the wrong direction.”

Trip nodded, surprised by Malcolm’s viewpoint, considering what he knew of his friend’s struggle with his father’s thwarted ambitions for him. “Yeah, you’re right. My dad was afraid for a while that I’d settle for just fixing cars and boats when I was having trouble in my math classes. Got me tutors and everything to get me through them – even grounded me for a while in high school when he thought I wasn’t studying hard enough. But he knew that warp engineering was my dream – he did it to help me, not to force me into something I didn’t want. I hope I’ll be as good as father when I have a kid.”

“I’m sure you will be.”

Trip stopped what he was doing and looked at Malcolm. The warmth and conviction in his friend’s voice touched him and the expression on Malcolm’s face...

He gazed back down at the piece of casing he was trying to pry off, flustered, trying not read too much into that look. “What about you?” he asked to cover his momentary lapse, going back to work on the casing. “Gonna have a kid someday? You were real good with Ashasak. You’d be a natural.”

“Yeah, I want to have children.”

Trip looked up again. “Children? Planning on more than one, then?” He couldn’t help the wide grin he gave Malcolm, that flame of attraction suddenly flaring up. He’d always wanted more than one child; the few women he’d been serious about either wanted only one or none at all. 

His grin faded as the silence stretched. Malcolm was studying him again, that look of calculation on his face. Trip met that look head on, willing Malcolm to trust him and tell him whatever it was he was considering. Trip didn’t realize he was holding his breath. 

“When I was 15 I got a girl pregnant.”

Trip’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. 

“I didn’t know at the time – the day after her father told my parents my father shipped me off to a military school in England. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Qiao and all my letters to her were returned unopened. But I found out what happened after I’d finished school. I tried to find them but my father had paid off Qiao’s father and they’d returned to China.” 

Trip blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “What about the baby?”

“Based on their beliefs I’m certain it was placed for adoption – she was from a ‘good’ family and they wouldn’t have kept a bastard child as a reminder of their daughter’s ‘shame’,” Malcolm said with bitter sarcasm.

“I would have married her. I would have done right by her and our baby. I loved her. I think she loved me. But, as you know, my father wanted me to go into the Navy. When I found out he told me it was for the best, that I didn’t need the distraction – said I didn’t need them holding me back. My mother agreed with him. I was furious. When they refused to tell me anything to help me find them, I simply...lost it. I told them I wasn’t going to the Royal Naval College nor into the bloody Navy and he issued an ultimatum. When I wouldn’t back down he kicked me out, although he’d like to think that I left.” 

The heat left Malcolm’s voice. “I spent part of my gap year trying to track them down, but I never did. I’ve tried several times since, but it’s as if they’ve disappeared off the face of the earth. I don’t even know if I had a girl or a boy,” he murmured. 

Trip hurt for him, the ache in his friend’s voice was so stark. “That’s the primary reason I didn’t see or talk to my parents for years. I was just so angry. When I told Ian about it, he agreed.”

“But you’ve changed your mind?” Trip asked. Malcolm had said that in retrospect, Ian’s advice hadn’t be the best way to handle the situation. Trip had always thought the conflict was about Malcolm’s refusal to go into the navy, but that issue seemed to be a distant second in Malcolm’s opinion.

“After our little adventure in Shuttlepod One, I re-wrote that letter to my parents. They responded. We’ve tried to keep at it. My father still feels he was right and I still think he was dead wrong, but I understand his point of view a little better now.” Malcolm quirked a twisted smile. “Especially since I recently found out that he faced a similar situation.”

Trip almost dropped his screwdriver this time. “Wh–what? You telling me you got a long lost sibling out there?” 

Malcolm snorted a non-amused laugh. “No. It was me. He got my mum pregnant and had to marry her. My grandparents pretty much forced them into it.” 

He looked down at his feet, stopping their nervous jiggling, the only thing betraying how difficult this was for him to talk about. 

“My father resented having to get married so young, before he got to properly ‘sow his wild oats’.” The way he pronounced the phrase made Trip think he was quoting his father. “And my mother...at first he gave her the options of abortion or adoption. But she’s Catholic, you see. She wouldn’t get an abortion and it hurt her, that he hadn’t offered to marry her even though she wasn’t ready to be a wife and mother quite yet; she had to put her life on hold and my aunt told me she wouldn’t put me up for adoption just to spite him. Not the best way to start a marriage. So their relationship always had an edge to it because of me. She wasn’t happy that she was left raising a child she wasn’t ready for, and he wasn’t happy that he was supporting a wife and kid when he thought he should be enjoying his bachelorhood and furthering his career.”

He shrugged, his voice getting even quieter. “For a while they both were quite angry that I ruined their plans. They’d take their frustration out on each other and–“ Malcolm shook his head, biting off what he was going to say. “They eventually worked it out after Maddy came along. So I do understand why he did it. Now. But I still don’t agree with him. I didn’t think Qiao and the baby would have been a distraction then, and I don’t now. As much as I like being on Enterprise, I would have been happy with them back on Earth.” He gave Trip a sad little smile. “And I’ve sown enough wild oats to know it’s overrated.”

That smile faded as Malcolm bowed his head again, studying the dirt beneath his perch. “She was only 16. I can’t imagine how she must have felt. I’d like to think she’d knew I wanted to be with her and the baby, but I don’t know what her father told her. Probably something horrible,” he murmured the last and shook his head, then looked up at Trip. “So yes, to answer your question, I’d like more children someday.” He exhaled slowly, his eyes sliding away from Trip. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that all came from.”

Trip put his screwdriver down and walked over to Malcolm. He looked up at his friend and laid a hand on Malcolm’s thigh, trying to give him some comfort. “You spent a lot of time with Lapasha and Ashasak and whether you want to admit it or not, your relationship with Lapasha was pretty intense. It’s probably brought back a whole bunch of stuff about Qiao and the baby.”

Trip could see that he’d guessed right as Malcolm’s face changed. Another wave of affection swept through Trip. As insightful as Malcolm could be about others, he was often clueless about his own emotional responses. Probably one of the reasons why he felt he never could get close to anyone, Trip realized. 

“You know you can always tell me anything, don’t you? You’re my friend and I’ll always be yours,” Trip said sincerely. 

Malcolm put his hand over Trip’s own and squeezed quickly, making Trip’s heart beat a little faster. “Same here,” Malcolm said solemnly, then flashed a small crooked smile that warmed Trip to the very core. Malcolm jumped down from his perch and planted his hand on Trip’s back. “You’d best finish up. Do you need help? Or do you prefer working on your own in the sun til you’re red as a lobster?”

“Knowing you, Mister Boy Scout, I’m sure you put some sunscreen in the med kit. Besides, Tuckers don’t burn; we tan to perfection,” Trip said smugly. 

“Oh, you’re perfect all right,” Malcolm replied, that sardonic tone back in full force. His hand glided down from between Trip’s shoulder blades to the small of Trip’s back, lightly pushing Trip toward the probe. 

Trip barely managed to repress a shiver of pleasure at the touch. 

***

Between the two of them they demolished the casing of the probe quickly, thanks to, as Trip put it, Malcolm’s talent for systematic destruction. That led to a rapid fire trade of insults culminating in a small piece of the casing tossed at him. 

They took a water and food break then Trip put his now dry shirt back on, but not before pointing out to Malcolm his light tan. Malcolm rolled his eyes and headed back into the shade. “You’re on your own now, Commander Sun Kissed; getting that recorder free without destroying it requires your wondrously delicate touch.” The mocking words were softened by the cocky smirk and teasing glint in Malcolm’s eyes. He swung himself up into the crook of the tree and leaned back. “Carry on, sir.” The imperious wave of his hand matched his tone and Trip laughed, tickled as always when Malcolm’s rare playful side came out. He felt good; Malcolm had confided in him and it seemed to help ease the fretful mood Malcolm had been in earlier. 

Trip worked in silence as he performed the demanding and precise chore of removing the recorder without breaking it or triggering the erase function. It took a good half hour to get it out, and Trip heaved a breath of relief when it was finally free. He sat back on his heels and was slightly startled to see Malcolm, watching him with a slight smile, was sitting on the ground almost next to him. Trip had been so engrossed in his exacting task that he hadn’t noticed Malcolm had moved. 

“What?” Trip demanded. That smile made him feel self-conscious. 

“You really are an engineering virtuoso, aren’t you?” Malcolm replied. “You didn’t have to look once at the instructions the Vulcans sent us. Half the time I couldn’t keep up with what you were doing to circumvent their erasure systems. You really have a genius for this.”

Trip heard that there was nothing but a genuine admiration in Malcolm’s tone. It filled him with pride, mixed with a bit of embarrassment, at being so openly praised. It meant a lot to him.

Because of that Trip decided not to mention that he’d forgotten the padd with the instructions on the shuttlepod. Good thing he’d looked at it before they’d left the ship. 

Instead he just smiled. “Your turn now. I don’t suppose you need any help?”

Malcolm shook his head and rose to his feet. “Doesn’t take much engineering know how to blow something up.” He went over to his backpack, opened it and began to lay out the munitions he needed. Trip, the recorder in hand, ambled over. Malcolm pulled out a roll of packing material, and a waterproof bag. “Here, wrap it up and seal it in that. Wouldn’t do to damage it after all this.”

Trip thought it was a bit of overkill, but carefully did as he was told to humor him. It took up most of the room in his backpack, so he stuffed his toolkit, the medkit, and, after updating Jon with their progress, their communicator into Malcolm’s now nearly empty pack. He was about to put the extra phase pistol in there too, but Malcolm stopped him. “You should keep that, just in case.”

In case of what, Trip thought, but didn’t say anything – he didn’t want to start an argument, although ragging on Malcolm about his paranoia was always fun. But he didn’t want to spoil Malcolm’s good mood; he’d spent too much time trying to get him into it as it was.

Trip zipped up his pack and sat down next to it. He watched as Malcolm made some sort of painstakingly minute adjustment to each explosive, then place them on and in the probe with a meticulous precision. It took a while, but Malcolm finally was satisfied and walked back over to Trip.

“That’s a hell of a lot of explosives, Lieutenant.” Trip said it mildly but he was a little concerned.

“Well, the Vulcans want nothing left and that’s what I intend to do.”

“Looks like you’ll blow up this whole area.” Trip wondered how far away they’d have to get. He didn’t want to wade a mile through the water to get away from the blast and then come all the way back to check if they’d succeeded.

Yeah, you’d think so,” Malcolm agreed pleasantly, “But that’s not what’ll happen. These will now burn incredibly hot and vaporize the probe within seconds; shouldn’t even leave ash behind. And if I’ve placed them correctly, it won’t even scorch the brush.”

“You’re kidding. What kind of explosive does that?”

Malcolm extended his hand, showing him one of the tiny charges. Standard Starfleet issue.“

“But those won’t do what you say they will,” Trip protested. He might not be a demolitions expert but he knew the specs on all of Starfleet’s equipment.

“No, but I’ve modified them.” His explanation contained words like subsonic deflagration and laminar flame speed, complete with the mathematical formulae, which quite frankly, made Trip tune out. Give him good old simple warp field calculations any day. 

But Trip had to admit it was kind of fun to see how animated Malcolm had become. And he knew he himself was just as bad when it came to talking about his beloved engine. 

“...and the best bit is how powerful but compact the explosion will be,” Malcolm concluded. The smile he gave Trip was one of pure relish and Trip couldn’t help but respond with a wide grin of his own. Malcolm then unzipped his trouser pocket and shoved the small charge into it.

“Hey! Don’t be doing that! If it goes off by accident, you’ll blow your nuts right off!”

Malcolm shook his head. “Modified that too – can’t be triggered accidentally. You have to input a detonation command then you have ninety seconds before it goes off.” He gave Trip an impudent look. “However, it’s nice to know that you care about my balls so much.”

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to drag your whiny nutless ass all the way back to the pod,” Trip shot back. Malcolm laughed and Trip gave him a lighthearted shove. “Let’s get to it, Lieutenant.” 

“Yessir!” Malcolm gave him a sloppy two fingered salute and dug back into his pack. He withdrew a small remote, zipped up the pack and told Trip to follow him.

They’d waded out a couple hundred feet when Malcolm looked back, gauging the distance, then continued a little further, slogging through the hip deep water. Malcolm stopped and turned. “Ready?” he asked.

“Are you sure we’re far enough away?”

“Positive.”

“All right, then. Fire away, Gridley.”

Malcolm smirked at him. “Not exactly the correct quote, Commander, but I like the sentiment.” He triggered the remote.

The roar of the fireball shooting up in to the air, coupled with the ground shaking beneath their feet, made Trip clutch Malcolm’s arm in surprise. A gust of heat was followed by a small wave that crested against his stomach, then everything was still and quiet once more save for the ripples in the water.

The probe was gone. Vaporized, just as Malcolm promised. The only thing left was a slightly darkened patch where the probe once laid. 

“That was AWESOME!” Trip shouted. The sound and sight of the blast, the heat from it – it had been exhilarating.   
  
“I love my job,” Malcolm said, an almost manic glee lighting his face.

Then something huge reared up in front of them. 

***  



	2. Chapter 2

  
When Trip was young one of his most prized possessions was his Monsters of the Deep book – facts and pictures of deep sea creatures that both terrified and fascinated him. Giant squid that could crush a boat, fearsome angler fish that would beckons its unwitting prey into its horrifying teeth filled jaws; there were great white sharks and scary looking stargazers, the pacific blackdragon and massive poisonous jellyfish, not to mention the pelican eel that looked straight out of a nightmare of H.R. Geiger’s. They all fired his 7 year old imagination, led him into scuba diving and sparked his love for the ocean. 

But this –

Trip had only a moment to register an enormous maw with two huge fangs protruding from its out-thrust lower jaw, its upper jaw armed with a single, long needle-sharp tooth before its eel-like head turned sideways and an impassive yellow eye, flat and dead looking, gazed at him before striking down and engulfing Malcolm. Trip’s grasp on Malcolm’s arm was torn away as Malcolm was swept under with the creature, the water splashing up in their wake. 

He was pulled from his shocked stupor when the creature breached the surface, about 25 feet away. He saw Malcolm twisting in its hold as its snake-like body slapped the water, trying to stun its prey, before it plunged under again.

“Malcolm!” he screamed, tearing off his backpack, frantic to get to the phase pistol. It only took a few seconds and he raised his arm, aiming at the spot where the monster had disappeared but there was nothing there. 

He tried to look everywhere at once, searching for disturbances in the water, for some sign of movement, but the water was placid. He grabbed the scanner out of his pack and in his haste scanned himself by accident – only his upper torso registered; it was if his legs didn’t exist.

Goddamn it, he thought with despair, something in the water cloaks lifeforms. He shoved the scanner back into his pack and held it and the phase pistol aloft, plunging his head underwater and opened his eyes.

The water was almost opaque; the rays of sunlight seemed to just give up only a few inches from the surface, leaving him as good as blind. He closed his useless eyes, listening hard, hoping to catch some sound.

Nothing.

He stood up, fear and desperation twisting in his gut, searching, but there was no sign of the creature, or Malcolm.

A minute ticked by and the fear began to spike. A myriad of questions sped through his mind – how fast could it swim, how long could Malcolm hold his breath, would the phase pistol even affect it?

The last thought made him check his weapon and he thumbed it to kill. He decided that he’d aim for its eye, a point that should be vulnerable. 

He continued to visually scan the area, his heart jack hammering. His fear for Malcolm’s life was almost overwhelming, almost freezing him and he forced himself to estimate where it might surface again even though a part of him knew it was futile – there were too many variables.

The seconds turned into another minute, then another and Trip grew more frantic, the feeling of helplessness consuming him, the complete stillness mocking him.

Another minute passed. Nothing moved.

Desperation made him slap the water, shouting. “Hey, come get me! Over here you ugly son of a bitch!” He splashed around, churning the water; if he couldn’t find the creature maybe it would find him, a last ditch effort. He held the phase pistol tight, knowing he’d get only one chance.

There was a sudden tremor, then a geyser of water shot up, about 400 feet from him, startling him badly. He saw the creature’s severed head fly up, landing with a wet squelch on a tiny strip of land.

He could just make out a scrap of tan against the dark mud. 

  
***

  
Trip dived into the water and swam as fast as he could. It was only a little longer than the length of a football field he told himself, pushing himself faster, ignoring the tug of the backpack that was trying to slow him down. 

When he felt his belly scrape along the bottom he stood, sprinting the best he could the last few meters to the sliver of land. The massive decapitated head took up most of it; he could see the torn and bloody neck, silver fluid dripping from the ragged flesh. He slipped and nearly fell in his haste to get to the front of the head. 

Malcolm was wedged in its jaws, jammed between the ominous lower teeth. Trip’s brief moment of relief was crushed when he saw that Malcolm was impaled upon the lone upper fang. It was embedded in his side, his shirt stained with blood.

Trip landed on his knees, settling beside Malcolm’s body, scrabbling to unzip his pack, to get to the phase pistol. He knew he couldn’t just pull Malcolm off the tooth, that he would do even worse damage by yanking out that horrific fang. He’d have to cut Malcolm loose. As he reached in his pack he checked Malcolm and froze.

Malcolm wasn’t breathing.

He pressed his fingers to Malcolm’s neck and found a heartbeat. A flurry of options sped through his mind, none of them good, as he placed his mouth on Malcolm’s and exhaled. Trip breathed again into Malcolm’s mouth but his chest didn’t rise.

Trip had seen a few drowning victims in his time spent on the beaches of Florida; he needed to perform CPR but it was impossible to do so in the tight space of the creature’s maw. He abandoned his attempt at resuscitation and checked the phase pistol. It was still set to kill and he aimed it at the fang piercing Malcolm’s side.

He sliced through it, as close to Malcolm as he safely could, the overlap from the beam searing the flesh of the creature’s open throat. Of all things it smelled like catfish frying. Precious seconds were spent trying to release Malcolm from the confines of its lower teeth. Using his back he reared up to pry open the creature’s mouth and he pulled at Malcolm only to be met with resistance. Malcolm’s shirt and mangled backpack were caught on one of the creature’s teeth and even more seconds were wasted as he untangled Malcolm from the pack. Trip pulled hard, ripping Malcolm’s shirt and they both fell out of the monster’s jaws. Trip dragged him as far away from the beast as possible although it was only a few yards; he was disturbed to see a shallow trough in the mud following them. A quick check confirmed his fears that the tip of the fang was protruding from Malcolm’s back.

Trip had no time to worry about that. He began chest compressions, for once grateful for Starfleet’s survival training. The instructors had really drilled first aid methods into their charges, even getting them up in the middle of the night, when they were barely awake and disoriented, for practice sessions. He remembered how much Jon hated that. The captain could do CPR in his sleep; he’d become a life guard in high school and had continued throughout his college years. Thankfully CPR was second nature to Trip now as well.

Just as Trip was getting winded, his arms aching, Malcolm twitched. Trip drew away just in time. Malcolm coughed and began to vomit a stream of water. Trip quickly turned him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke. Trip’s hands were shaking with adrenaline and fear, unsure how long Malcolm had been without oxygen, but at least he was breathing on his own now. Trip sat back, exhausted and feeling a little numb, and simply watched Malcolm breath.

Eventually Trip forced himself to rise and get Malcolm’s pack, looking for the first aid kit. The pack hung raggedly from the huge lower fang. 

The med kit was smashed, its contents gone. It had probably saved Malcolm’s life by deflecting that lower fang from sinking into his back, but miraculously a quick clotting pressure pad was lodged in the hinge, still sealed. He removed it, checking the depths of the ripped pack, but there was nothing. Everything was lost, including their communicator. Trip didn’t have time to be dismayed; Malcolm was coughing again, making a feeble effort to push himself up before vomiting again.

Trip rushed back over to Malcolm and held him as he continued to throw up that dark water. Trip thought that the fang jutting from Malcolm’s side looked a little longer than before. A quick glance confirmed that the tip was now flush against Malcolm’s back. Trip winced; it must have been pushed back into Malcolm’s body when he’d done the chest compressions. It couldn’t be helped, but who knew what kind of internal damage there could be.

Malcolm finally stopped vomiting and collapsed against Trip. “Malcolm?” Trip said, though it came out a husky whisper. He cleared his throat and bit back his emotions, his fear. “Malcolm?” he said, a little louder this time.

A weak hand grasped his arm. “Sometimes I hate my job.”

He couldn’t help it, but the giddy feeling of relief made Trip chuckle.

***

By using the remnants of Malcolm’s shirt and his own, plus tearing the pressure pad in half, Trip was able to bandage Malcolm up. It had been difficult; Malcolm was little more than a rag doll, but Trip talked to him throughout it all, encouraged every time Malcolm managed monosyllabic answer. By the time Trip was done they were both covered in mud but the wound was bound up tight, the fang secured and well padded.

It looked worse than it actually was; the scanner showed that no internal organs had been injured and Malcolm hadn’t lost much blood, with the fang preventing any further bleeding. It was close to a rib though and Trip told Malcolm he was lucky it hadn’t splintered right through it. 

“If I were lucky I wouldn’t have been the one eaten by a bloody fish,” Malcolm rasped out. 

“More like an eel,” Trip corrected absently. He was just happy that Malcolm was at last fully responsive. So Trip was content to sit there for a while, letting his mouth run in an effort not to think about how helpless he had felt, about how close Malcolm had come to dying. 

In an effort not to think how much he was enjoying holding Malcolm and how perfectly natural it felt.

But they couldn’t sit there forever. Jon wasn’t expecting to hear from them for a quite while and it would take their crewmates hours to find a place to land, come to them, and then make the hike all the way back to the shuttles. No matter what the scanner said, Trip would feel a hell of a lot better if Malcolm were safe in sickbay and under Phlox’s care. “Think you can stand up?” he finally asked.

Malcolm nodded. Trip helped him up, steadying him as Malcolm stumbled against him. “I feel awful,” Malcolm muttered.

“That’s what happens when you blow up a giant eel while he’s trying to eat ya,” Trip said. Not to mention nearly drowning to death, he added silently to himself, the worry back. Malcolm rarely admitted to being hurt – yes, he’d bitch and complain over minor discomforts, but something major, like that time Silik had beaten him or when he’d been shot on that lost colony, he’d made nary a peep. It was something that Trip couldn’t figure out, although he’d spent more time thinking about it than he would want to admit. But maybe Malcolm’s complaint was a good thing – despite how gruesome that embedded fang looked.

Malcolm brightened a little. “That must have been ace. I don’t remember the explosion – how was it?”

Trip had to laugh. “Pretty great.” He told Malcolm what had happened, helping him turn around to see his handiwork. “I don’t know how you managed to blow that son of a bitch up without blowing your balls off either.”

Malcolm gave him a weak smirk. “Obviously I took it out of my pocket. Inputted the detonation code and gave it a push in what I hoped was the right direction down its throat.” The smirk faded. “Couldn’t see a bloody thing. I only wished I could set the timer up a bit. I was afraid I couldn’t hold my breath for that much longer...” he trailed off. “I can’t remember anything after that,” he said and looked away, but Trip could feel him trembling slightly.

That’s when Trip decided not to tell Malcolm that he had in fact drowned. There wasn’t a need to unsettle him any further. If he couldn’t remember drowning, then it was for the best; Trip couldn’t imagine what it must have been like but by the look he’d caught in Malcolm’s eyes what he could remember had been a harrowing experience. 

“We should get going,” he said instead, unable to think of anything comforting to say. But he hugged Malcolm a little closer, hoping that the simple human contact would help. 

Malcolm nodded and they stepped forward, back into the water.

  
***

They slogged along in silence for a while, Trip trying to push down his worry and nerves as Malcolm leaned heavily against him. Trip had his arm wrapped around Malcolm’s waist, his hand against flat against Malcolm’s ribs with the crook of his palm loosely encircling the base of protruding fang in an attempt to keep it stable. He could feel its slight vibration with every step they took. 

Trip held the phase pistol in his other hand. He didn’t bother with the scanner; if there were other creatures in the water it wouldn’t pick them up. They would just have to take their chances. But he prayed there wouldn’t be a problem. He worked on convincing himself that if they were anything like Earth’s eels, it was doubtful that two of those creatures would share the same territory. Besides, he’d already decided that disturbance they’d caused by destroying the probe was what alerted the monster to their presence in the first place. After all, they hadn’t encountered a thing on the trek in. But he kept a tight grip on the pistol just in case.

Even though it would take longer to get back to the shuttle he would insist on breaks whether Malcolm wanted them or not. But a quick peek at his friend made him think that he wouldn’t get an argument. Malcolm had slipped his fingers into Trip’s waistband, as if it took too much energy to keep his hand against Trip’s hip without the help. His head was leaning against Trip’s shoulder, his eyes were shut and streaks of sweat cut through the mud covering him. 

“You doin’ okay?” Trip asked.

He got a grunt in return and Trip couldn’t tell if it meant yes or no. He could just make out a little spot of land in the distance. They’d rest there he decided. When he told Malcolm that he got the same response as before. 

“Hey, talk to me, Malcolm.”

Malcolm rolled his head to look at Trip. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well, you look like crap.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been impaled again. Plus I was eaten by a giant fucking eel. Tends to make one not very chatty.”

If Malcolm could still be snotty then he wasn’t doing too badly, Trip thought, torn between amusement and irritation, as he often felt when he was with Malcolm. It was a familiar, and if Trip was honest with himself, comforting feeling.

“You weren’t eaten by a giant fucking eel. You were nearly eaten by a giant fucking eel,” he shot back, unable to help the gallows humor. He was rewarded with a weak snort, but Trip could see the small smile. It was a welcome light moment in the midst of Trip’s pervasive anxiety.

He hated to admit it but he was still shaken by the whole ordeal. He felt as on edge as Malcolm had been on the way in. It was a horrible feeling.

He’d been so scared. 

He’d never felt so helpless in his life. It had made him feel like a child for a moment, frozen in fear, his mind refusing to comprehend what his eyes had seen. Although he’d never forget seeing that monstrosity dragging Malcolm under, never forget the complete and utter inability to do anything, to save Malcolm.

“Hell of a day, huh?” 

Startled, Trip was roused from his distressing thoughts. Malcolm was gazing at him, his face solemn, his eyes sympathetic. He had the feeling that Malcolm knew what he’d been thinking.

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re okay,” Trip choked out, unable to say anything further without his emotions overwhelming him.

“I’m glad it wasn’t you,” Malcolm replied, his fingers lightly pressing against Trip’s hip for emphasis. He held Trip’s gaze for a moment longer, then lowered his head back to its original position against Trip’s shoulder.

They waded on in silence.

  
*** 

Trip had been right; Malcolm hadn’t argued about the taking a break. By the time they made it to the little isle he could see Malcolm was flagging. He helped Malcolm to a low slung tree and Malcolm leaned wearily against the trunk. Trip uncapped his canteen and offered it to Malcolm, who took a cautious sip while Trip scanned his side.

Trip had finally gotten his emotions under control. They were both alive and Malcolm was doing well considering the circumstances. “Looking good,” he said brightly. “The fang hasn’t moved and you’re not bleeding. Reed 1, Giant Alien Eel 0.”

“If you’re going down, take the bastards with you.” 

Trip laughed. “You learn that in that military school of yours?” he joked.

“First thing Major Ewan McKenzie, retired, of the Royal Regiment of Scotland, taught us in self-defense. That and kill or be killed. He showed us how to do it too.”

Trip sobered. “They taught a bunch of kids that? Isn’t that kinda harsh?”

Malcolm took another sip of water as he gave Trip a long, contemplative look. Trip waited, wondering what Malcolm would, or wouldn’t, reveal this time.

“It was that harsh,” he finally said. “My parents chose a military school for troubled teens. I think they overreacted a little,” he said with a sarcastic smirk.

Trip shook his head. “That really sucks.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“You must’ve hated it,” Trip said sympathetically.

“No, I liked it actually.” Trip shot him a skeptical look. Malcolm sighed. “To be honest, I needed the structure.”

“You?” Trip asked in disbelief.

“I do better in a structured environment,” Malcolm stated, somewhat defensively. “I have a tendency to...” he trailed off.

“Do stupid shit when left to your own devices?” Trip supplied. He could relate to that. The stories he could tell...

“You know me too well,” Malcolm laughed, then hissed, hand darting to his side. Trip hovered anxiously until Malcolm indicated he was all right. “Don’t make me laugh,” he scolded. 

His affectionate tone warmed Trip. “So you like structure,” he prompted, wanting to hear more.

“Yeah. It’s why I liked scouting. There was always a skill to learn, some activity to do, a badge to earn--”

“Camping trips from hell,” Trip teased, remembering the story about Malcolm’s last camp out as an aide to a younger troop and what had happened when the scoutmaster had become ill.

Malcolm smiled again. “That was the only trying one. But yes, I liked all that. To me, military school was an extension of that: goal oriented, testing oneself; and I met a lot of interesting kids.”

“Juvenile delinquents, you mean,” Trip put in. 

Malcolm handed the canteen back to Trip and gingerly pushed away from the tree, ready to start walking again. Trip hurried to help him, placing his arm around Malcolm’s waist. “Some. But they were a hell of a lot of fun. Perfect mates for a 15 year old who did ‘stupid shit when left to his own devices’.” He drawled the last in his imitation of Trip’s accent as he wrapped his arm around Trip’s waist, leading them back into the water.

They exchanged stories of their reckless youths. Trip ate up every one of Malcolm’s tales, and reveled in Malcolm’s delighted reactions to his own yarns.  
  
Despite the situation, Trip was enjoying himself.

  
***

In fact Trip enjoyed himself so much he didn’t notice that they’d walked for quite a while without a break. He was in the middle of the story about the time he and his friends assembled a car around the high school flag pole as their senior prank. Which was a follow up to putting that same car up on the gym roof their junior year. Malcolm had been very impressed by how they’d performed both pranks and Trip was explaining how they’d cut a section out of the old junker, slid it around the flag pole and welded the car back together when he noticed that Malcolm looked pretty flushed. Trip kicked himself mentally and made a beeline to the nearest hammock of trees. 

He boosted Malcolm up into the nest of slimy roots, then scrambled up himself, momentarily wishing they could just walk out of there, but the vegetation was too thick with the unstable footing perilous. Having explored the Everglades he knew that going by water was the quickest way, with the least exertion – although he’d never waded in those dangerous waters. 

Malcolm carefully scooted back, trying to get his feet out of the water’s edge and leaned against the tangle of roots, panting slightly. Trip turned the scanner on him. The fang was still stable, but a moment later Trip frowned.

“You’re running a fever. Why didn’t you say anything?” Trip demanded.

“I didn’t know.”

“How could you not know?”

“We’re walking through an endless swamp of piss warm water. Aren’t you hot too?” Malcolm shot back. Trip had no doubt Malcolm meant to sound derisive, but all he heard was the exhausted undertone in Malcolm’s reply. It immediately made him feel guilty, although a little irritated as well. Malcolm should have said something.

His face must have given his thoughts away. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really didn’t notice,” Malcolm said. “I was...your stories...they’re helping me not to think about this,” he vaguely indicated to his side, “or what happened, or...or the water,” he said, looking away, uncomfortable. 

Trip’s irritation vanished and his guilt increased as he put himself in Malcolm’s shoes – and he’d been in Malcolm’s shoes that time when Jon had dragged him through the desert, his ribs cracked and half dead. Jon had talked to him nonstop, which helped him to keep going. And if he was still nervous about the possibility of more monsters lurking in the water, then Malcolm must be twice as anxious considering what had happened to him.

Trip uncapped his canteen and handed it to Malcolm. “I’m sorry. I–“

Malcolm waved his apology away as he took a drink. He gave it back to Trip, who took a large swallow. 

“I like hearing your stories,” Malcolm confessed quietly. “And not just because they keep my mind off things.” 

“I like hearing yours too,” Trip said. They held each other’s gaze for a moment until Malcolm dredged up a small smirk. “I’ve spent a long time trying to figure you out and they add to my research.” The arrogant tone was back but Trip didn’t miss the warmth in Malcolm’s eyes.

  
***

They rested for only a short while before returning to the water, knowing that they had to keep going. The scanner confirmed that they were headed in the right direction and Malcolm swore they were retracing their steps, pointing out particular formations and landmarks they’d passed on the way in. But it felt different to Trip somehow. 

When they’d come in the water was mostly calf to knee high, occasionally coming to their thighs or groin. Now, more often than not, it was up to their hips, with long stretches past Trip’s waist. Those depths were the most difficult and slowed their progress. Trip opted to hold his pack and phase pistol aloft for the duration, not wanting to take a chance of the probe's recorder getting wet despite the precautions they'd taken and making this whole misadventure worthless. Malcolm waded next to him, arms wrapped around his sides hugging himself, his hand pressed firmly against the base of the fang. Their conversation had petered out, both laboring to move through the deeper water. 

They were working their way through a long channel, the dense mangroves on either side claustrophobic. The uncanny stillness of their surroundings, with the only sounds ones of their own making, was getting on Trip’s nerves. Trip remembered coming through this section on the way in, but the water had been much lower then. It was just below Malcolm’s sternum now. 

It was obvious to Trip that Malcolm was tense as well; he could see how tight the muscles in Malcolm’s back and shoulders were, his jaw clenched. Sweat dampened his skin, pronounced on his forehead and the nape of his neck. There was a wide-eyed, almost freaked out alertness to him, which fed into Trip’s creeping paranoia. So when Trip felt something brush against his leg, it was only natural he reacted as he did.

He shoved Malcolm hard, shooting at the water, yelling at the top of his lungs. He placed himself between it and Malcolm, firing away, backing up all the while, making for the treeline. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Malcolm.

There was no sign of him. 

Trip screamed Malcolm’s name just as he caught a movement from the corner of his eye, exploding up from the water. He swung the phase pistol at it.

Malcolm’s hand grabbed Trip’s wrist, forcing the pistol away, the beam passing by Malcolm’s head by inches. He spat out a mouthful of water and gasped for air. Trip dragged him the few extra feet to the trees and manhandled him up into their roots, then scrambled up right behind him. Malcolm was too busy coughing and clutching his side to protest the rough treatment. Trip stood over him, finger squeezing the trigger continuously to spray the water with phase pistol fire.

“What the fuck, Trip?” Malcolm yelled when he finally caught his breath, shaken, and to Trip’s ears his tone verging on hysteria, but whether from anger or pain Trip couldn’t tell. 

“I felt something; it touched my leg!” Trip shouted back. The water stirred and they both scuttled further away from the water’s edge. Trip aimed the phase pistol at the disturbance.

A rotted tree branch surfaced and bobbed there, with several phase pistol burn marks marring it. Trip gaped at it. Malcolm groaned and curled in on himself, breathing hard and his whole body shuddering. Trip quickly knelt beside him, alarmed by thin streaks of fresh blood on the cloth bandages.

“You okay?” Trip asked, scared. He cradled Malcolm’s cheek, which was warm despite his dunking and eased his face toward him. 

Trip almost strangled him when he realized Malcolm was laughing. At him.

“Oh, really funny, asshole,” Trip snarled, embarrassed. That only made Malcolm laugh harder, his eyes tearing up. “Shut up, dickwad.” He pulled away from Malcolm, but Malcolm grabbed his arm.

“No, no,” he gasped, trying to rein himself in, “It’s just...I was expecting...rawr...” and he clawed the air, his hand working like the mouth of an animal, “...and then...” he gently floated his hand in front of Trip, unable to say anything else through his laughter.

Trip immediately relaxed. In retrospect, it had been kind of funny. He watched as Malcolm tried to control himself. “Rawr?” he asked, his mouth twitching. 

That set Malcolm off again and this time Trip joined him in laughter.

Until he realized that he’d almost shot Malcolm, with a phase pistol set to kill. That’s when he began to shake, feeling sick to his stomach. 

  
***

“I like drugs.”

Trip gave Malcolm a sideways glance, startled by the abrupt declaration. “Do ya, now?”

Malcolm nodded sincerely. “I do. I would say I love drugs. In fact, I love them so much, I would marry them.”

The dead serious tone made Trip chuckle and he took his eyes off the sucking mud to fully look at Malcolm. Malcolm rewarded him with a small smile that turned to a pained grimace when they stumbled over a hidden rock. 

“Sorry,” Trip said, adjusting his hold on his friend, acutely aware that Malcolm was hurting badly. 

Malcolm shook his head, eyes closed. “My fault,” he said, panting a little in pain. “Shouldn’t distract you.” 

You have no idea, Trip thought. Hugging Malcolm close while they were both soaking wet and half naked, had recently been a distracting fantasy for Trip.

But on a seemingly endless march to the shuttlepod with Malcolm bloodied and feverish and no way to signal for help hadn’t been part of that fantasy. 

After the ‘log incident’ they had just sat there, with Trip trying to get his nerves, and stomach, under control once more. Malcolm’s outburst had cost him; between his laughing jag and Trip’s panicked handling of him the fang had shifted. Their extended time in the water hadn’t done him any favors either. The adhesive on the pressure pad had dissolved, rendering it useless as attested by the new blood stains on the makeshift bandages. 

The fact that Malcolm’s temperature was up another two degrees was just icing on the cake.

The only bright spot was that the water had receded from that unpleasant high tide, lowering until now, what was once knee high water on the way in was just a marshy mud-filled surface that pulled at their boots with every step. 

“It’s all right,” Trip said. “I figure as long as you’re still able to talk, I know you’re okay.”

“Okay?” Malcolm huffed in disdain, but it was a feeble effort. “Okay? Run through, run down, and nearly drowned. Twice. I’m just lovely.”

“I told you I was sorry for pushing you.”

“I want drugs. Now.”

“Not til we get to Enterprise.”

“I hate this planet.”

“Yeah, me too.” Trip couldn’t wait to get back to the ship. Their progress had slowed in the treacherous mud; every jarring misstep, every slip or off-balanced slide made the fang rub against Malcolm’s rib. The first time it had happened Malcolm had nearly been driven to his knees, gasping in pain, unable to speak, with Trip supporting his full weight. 

While the scanner had confirmed that Malcolm was in no danger of bleeding to death, the fever had Trip concerned. Whatever alien bacteria had gotten into the wound seemed to be thriving. Trip thought that Malcolm felt hotter than before and wanted to stop and scan him again to check but there wasn’t really a point to it; they couldn’t do anything about it in any case. The fact that Malcolm hadn’t wanted to stop, fearing that he wouldn’t be able to continue if he did, also worried Trip. He could feel the heat from Malcolm’s hand, which he’d shoved into Trip’s waistband once more. It matched the heat from Malcolm’s torso where it was plastered to Trip’s side, slick with sweat and the last remaining droplets of water. Trip didn’t know how he managed to keep going. Then again, he’d managed to walk, injured, dehydrated, and on the verge of heat stroke, for miles in a burning desert with Jon, although to be honest, he didn’t remember that much of the ordeal. But Trip guessed it was something else he and Malcolm had in common, that sheer cussedness.

“Is that the pod?”

Trip looked up, shaken from his musings by Malcolm’s question. He could see a gleam of metal far ahead. 

“Looks like it.”

“About time,” Malcolm grumbled.

They walked onto a particularly slick patch that made their feet slide and they both fought unsuccessfully to keep from falling. They landed hard, Malcolm throwing himself to the side to keep from dropping face first into the mud and shoving the fang further into his side, but the edge of the fang clipped the ground and Malcolm couldn’t help the cry of pain it caused. Trip could only helplessly kneel there as Malcolm lie curled up, gasping for breath, his hand clutching Trip’s as he tried to recover. When he was ready Trip hauled him up.

They picked their way through the mud in silence, moving even slower than before. Trip could tell that Malcolm had reached his limit. He knew he could carry Malcolm the rest of the way back to the shuttle if he had to, but he hoped it wouldn’t come down to that for Malcolm’s sake. 

“I’d bloody well marry Phlox if it’d get me drugs any faster,” Malcolm muttered, having finally caught his breath from their spill. His face was much too pale and his eyes were drifting closed repeatedly; he was now leaning solidly against Trip, letting himself be guided.

“So that’s your type in men,” Trip joked, a little desperate. 

“No, but if you had any painkillers, I’d marry you too.” Heat was rolling off Malcolm’s skin and his voice was roughened by pain, but he obstinately continued to stagger forward. 

Trip knew Malcolm was kidding, but it sent a little jolt of excitement through him nonetheless. “So I’m your type then?” Trip blurted out before he realized it, unaware that his tone was more serious than previously.

“I don’t have relationships with men. I have sex with them. Temporary. Anonymous. So in that regard, you could never be my type. You’re neither.” Malcolm’s knees buckled and Trip caught him. His eyes rolled back and he went limp. 

As Trip hoisted him up he was relieved to see that Malcolm was merely unconscious, that stubborn reserve finally depleted. Trip carried him the final distance to the shuttlepod, reflecting on Malcolm’s last words. They gave him an odd kind of hope, despite the negative wording. 

He realized he was no longer infatuated with Malcolm. He was helplessly in love with him.  



End file.
